We had a Mum’s night out on Friday. There were cocktails, kale crisps, wine, koftas, steak, cheese, pie and brownies. Plus gossip and laughter and comparing and contrasting. It was fun. I didn’t want it to end. But my inbuilt guilt alarm struck at about midnight. Like some kind of baggier, older Cinders I felt the need to hail cabs, gingerly unlock the door and creep up the creaky stairs. And then I felt this strange low-level sadness sweep over me. READ MORE